No Weddings (No Weddings #1)(16)

Extreme punctuality had always calmed me in an oh-so-OCD way, so I grabbed my laptop and the printed copies of the agreements and shoved them into my messenger bag before heading over to Hannah’s.

Pre-rush-hour traffic was so light, I slipped into the end space in front of Hannah’s shop inside of ten minutes. I glanced at my watch: 4:15 p.m. Undaunted by what she might think of my encroaching on her time, I stepped through the front door of Sweet Dreams.

The empty display case and stacked chairs all remained the same, with the bistro set remaining exactly as we’d left it, ready and waiting for our meeting. I took a seat, pulled out my laptop, and set the bag on the floor.

“You’re early,” a disembodied voice called out from the kitchen, tone flat.

“Got Wi-Fi?”

Unintelligible words were mumbled from the back, but I flipped open my laptop and it fired up, hooking into Hannah’s Wi-Fi like a charm.

Calm washed over me as I typed away on a business theory paper.

Yes, business theory.

Actually, it was a subtopic I’d requested in my Entrepreneurship and Venture Initiation class. The instructor was cool and gave me some leeway off syllabus as long as I met the core requirements of the class. Considering myself a budding entrepreneurial philosopher, business theory had become a hobby of mine, and I was interested in further exploring the subject for feedback.

Hannah appeared from the back at exactly 5:00 p.m.

I glanced up after I finished typing out a thought.

Holy shit.

She wore black, thigh-high stiletto boots, a black mini skirt, and a corset-style top. Her hair was down, long brunette waves flowing down her shoulders. I forced my gaze up to her face. Her expression was all business—hardened, actually—as if she was testing me.

Nice move.

But I’d been negotiating since I’d learned how to talk, thanks to my dad’s unorthodox father–son lessons. Tearing my attention away from her, I took a head-clearing breath, saved my business theory paper, and pulled up electronic copies of the agreements. I would’ve pulled out my printed versions, but I noticed she’d brought sets of her own.

When she sat down, she held a pair of folded glasses in one hand and two clipped packets in the other. She pulled her chair closer to the table and leaned toward me, sliding one of the packets over.

She put on the glasses, and I had to stop myself from entertaining a sexy librarian fantasy. “On top is the agreement I’ve signed—with revisions I won’t waver from. I also added in my fees. Although it seemed sensible to charge by the hour for my time, I took an estimation of the hours and materials in various scenarios and gave you a range depending on the circumstances. There will be a flat rate charged for each event, and it will be quoted within forty-eight hours of notice.”

I nodded, listening and understanding. All reasonable. I scanned through her revised contract, noting every word change. I knew, because I’d created it. “You got anything to drink?”

Her eyes widened, likely because I hadn’t balked yet. “Sure.” She got up and went to the back.

Business required a calm mind and tough negotiations, when warranted. It also required plenty of hydration to keep the brain cells firing.

She brought me a chilled Pellegrino in the bottle then took her seat again. I took a few swallows while flipping to the second page.

Hannah crossed her legs but sat there in silence, waiting.

When I’d identified a third talking point, I reached down and grabbed my yellow lined notepad, unclipped the pen attached to it, and flipped to a fresh page. I wrote down my thoughts, then continued.

About fifteen minutes later, I finished reading the four-page counterproposal. I folded the pages back into their order and glanced at the Confidentiality and Noncompete Agreement she’d included in the packet before looking up at her.

“I didn’t alter that agreement,” she said before I could ask.

“Good.” I picked it up from the table, flipped through the pages to confirm she’d initialed and signed in all the appropriate places, then slid it into my bag.

I leaned back in my chair, shifting my gaze back to hers. “You have valid points. I’m agreeable to all your terms—except for one.”

She looked at me without emotion. Her demeanor suggested it didn’t matter which one was unacceptable, either because she didn’t care a great deal about any single one, or they were all important enough to be deal breakers.

Knowing how to read the signals in any negotiation was paramount to winning one. It was like the perfect game of poker. Anyone could play decent hands and bluff. A good player had to study their opponents’ body language and make their next move accordingly.

I took her tells into consideration before speaking my next words, countering the one sticking point we were predictably going to butt heads on. “No weddings.”

Yeah, I didn’t give a f*ck. That was a deal breaker for me. She would accept it, or we would find another cake maker. Was it personal? Yes. Were there sound business reasons? Absolutely.

Her head cocked slightly to the right, but her gaze never left mine. She focused on reading me too. “Why would you care whether or not I make wedding cakes?”

I shrugged, easing back into the chair which creaked under the pressure. “I don’t. You can make cakes for whomever you choose. But if you want to be a part of Invitation Only, you’ll work with us exclusively with regard to events. A wedding is an event.”